


FYI

by lemonsandstrawberries



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Superfamily, Superfamily (Marvel), a bit of tickling, a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:42:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsandstrawberries/pseuds/lemonsandstrawberries
Summary: Steve is worried about Tony overworking himself and he takes the matter in his own hands. Yet first, he needs to convince his and Tony’s teenage son to leave the house.





	FYI

“I need you out of the house.”

“Huh?” Peter’s mouth fell open upon hearing the order. His pops was standing in front of him, looking somehow distant and concerned. And here he was, just wanting a calm afternoon with a book. “You want me to move out?” Peter asked, some excitement coloring his voice, because yes, he kept dropping subtle hints to his father that seventeen years old was adult enough to let him have his own floor at the Avengers Tower and that no, he won’t trash his dad’s precious building and would be fully respectful -

Steve mirrored his son’s expression, his face draining out of color. “What? No!” he quickly protested, shaking his head for emphasis. Peter was still a baby. A small, small baby. Heck, an hour ago he dropped a load of dirty socks and underwear he had gathered from his son’s room into the washing machine. Peter was so not ready to live alone yet. “I just need you to go out for the evening. And maybe even night.”

Peter drew his eyebrows together and then widened his eyes when the realization hit him. Ohhh. Ew. Ew. Ewww. He jumped off the couch as if someone tasered him. “Say no more. I am out,” he promised, putting his book aside. “Just fyi, if I had my own floor, you could do it freely.”

“Hey, watch it, kid,” Steve warned, not liking the tone, the attitude, and the suggestion and the abbreviation. Damn teenagers. “Your dad is having a rough time,” he said, a concerned note back in his voice, “I need to have a long talk with him, that’s all.”

“Dad is not feeling well?” Peter asked, just realizing that he was barely seeing his father. Every early morning, Tony went to his workshop just to emerge late at night. He barely slept, barely ate. Just work, work, work. He knew his dad was a workaholic and loved his job, but seemed that it all led into that dangerous zone, where work became an obsession. If someone could discipline his dad back and show him what was important again, it was only his pops.

“He is overtired. Needs peace and rest,” Steve said.

“Okay,” Peter nodded, knowing that his dad would be in good hands. Yet, he could take advantage of this situation. “I need my allowance earlier if I have to leave,” he said with an innocent smile, reaching his hand in Steve’s direction.

Steve huffed and took his wallet out, taking some paper bills out and putting on Peter’s palm without any additional question. It was better that Peter chose to be straightforward instead of trying to outsmart Steve, something the kid undoubtedly learned from Tony. “Here. Now gtho, kid,” he said, proving that he could speak in modern talk too.

Peter grinned impishly and trotted out of the living room, planning to swing by his room to get his stuff and call his gang. The night out was on him.

“Call me after 10 pm where you are!” Steve yelled after his teenage son, a warning hearable in his voice, indicating that he won’t hesitate to get in his Captain America gear and track him down.

“Yes, sir!”

Seemingly calmed down, Steve took a deep breath. He felt that the easy part was behind him, and the true difficulties would start.

***

With an exhausted sigh, Tony straightened up from his workbench. He took a quick look over new plans for improved Captain America suit, a more lightweight and more durable Spider-man suit and some upgrades to his armor. It was so time-consuming to implement all the changes, but it would be so worth it. Anything to keep his family safe.

“Babe, come up for dinner,” Steve’s voice crackled through the intercom and Tony debated if he could afford himself a break. Last weeks, he tended to come up to a cold dinner and his son and husband already deep asleep. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming, his arms hurting just from this simple movement. Okay, maybe he deserved to finish early. Besides, he wouldn’t risk Steve getting irritated with him and dragging him out of the workshop by force.

One long elevator ride later, Tony walked into his floor. His family would be surprised to see him, and Tony chuckled lowly to that thought. “Pete, dinner!” he called in the direction of his son’s room on the way to the kitchen, knowing that his kid had to be asked multiple times to leave his tasks and come and join them. That sounded painfully familiar.

But something smelled good. Like, really, really good. Oil and breadcrumbs. Deep fried. Deep fried? His nose didn’t deceive him and when he walked into the kitchen he saw Steve’s back as his husband was at the stove, and Tony heard oil sizzling.

“You are just in time,” Steve said happily, fishing out something out of the pot. He turned to Tony and offered him a plate of golden and crisp, freshly fried mozzarella sticks. “Just for you.”

Tony looked at the fried cheesy goodness, his mouth watering. He looked back at Steve. “Who are you and what did you do to my husband?” he asked with a serious face. It had been almost ten years since the last time he had eaten fried mozzarella sticks, or anything deep fried for that matter, as he was banned from eating such food by Steve’s order - something about his arteries getting clogged with so much fat and oil.

Steve laughed, watching Tony taking the hot mozzarella stick into his fingers and biting into it with a nice crunch, cheese strands stretching from his mouth and clear bliss on his face. If Tony didn’t marry Steve, he would marry a deep fried mozzarella stick.

“Sit down, I need a minute to finish your carbonara,” Steve said, turning away.

Tony complied, wondering what was happening. Deep fried food. And now pasta in oil and bacon and egg yolks. It was like all the food, Steve tried to limit in his diet. “Where is Peter?” he asked instead, noticing that the table was set for two, and oh God, maybe something happened to their son and Steve was trying to get him into a food coma so he won’t over panic-

“Peter is out with his friends,” Steve said, straining the pasta and tossing it into the pan, quickly adding the rest of ingredients and coating the pasta in a nice, thick layer of sauce smelling of garlic and parmesan. “Don’t worry about him, he is fine,” he put the plate down in front of Tony and Tony looked at the food. Something seemed really, really off and he was getting suspicious quickly. Steve petted his hair and stood behind him, leaning over the chair and wrapped hands around his husband’s waist.

“I am worried about you,” Steve admitted, speaking in a quiet voice. “You are working too much.”

Ah, so that was the reason behind all this.

Tony smiled, maybe being too happy with knowing that Steve cared so much about him. “You know how it is, work has to be done.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to see only work in your life,” Steve said, brushing his lips over the side of Tony’s neck, causing him to giggle just a bit. “Peter is growing up and we still have many things we planned to do, but keep pushing them aside. I want you to take things easier and slower so we could be longer together.”

“I know, baby,” Tony agreed, his smile changing into a sweeter one. “Just, fyi, feeding me this won’t help your cause,” Tony pointed out, the smug smile back.

Oh, so this is from who Peter caught speaking in abbreviations. Steve should have known. Yet, he didn’t comment, his face heating up.

“Uhm, I know, but you lost some weight recently,” Steve whispered, brushing his fingers over Tony’s leaner stomach, loving the way his husband jerked away and laughed abruptly. He kept the touch short and sweet and kissed Tony’s neck again. Longer and more tender. “I have to help you put it back on.”

“No complaints here,” Tony brightened, reaching for the fork and digging into the amazing carbonara. Heaven on a plate.

“Tony…”

“Mhhhm?”

“Peter won’t be back until tomorrow morning. You know what that means, right?”

Tony chewed the mouthful of pasta and swallowed, turning to look at his husband. He smiled, his lips having a shiny coat of the fatty sauce. “Uninterrupted eight hours of sleep?”

Steve smiled back, kissing the tasty lips belonging to an even tastier man. “Exactly that.”

And Tony once again had nothing to complain about.


End file.
